


Spandrel

by OneOfThoseThings



Series: Interspecies Compatibility [6]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, F/M, Fluff without Plot, Friends With Benefits, Interspecies Relationship(s), Mutual Masturbation (Basically), Telepathic Transference Treated as a Fun and Handy Mood Elevator, a distinct lack of shame, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOfThoseThings/pseuds/OneOfThoseThings
Summary: Donna and the Doctor have a pretty average day, just hanging out.(An entirely optional interlude for those of us who like lazing around fics.)
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Donna Noble
Series: Interspecies Compatibility [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637608
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109





	Spandrel

**Author's Note:**

> Spandrel (ala Wikipedia): In evolutionary biology, a spandrel is a phenotypic characteristic that is a byproduct of the evolution of some other characteristic, rather than a direct product of adaptive selection. That is, it is a trait that is not particularly advantageous to have, though it is retained because it is not particularly harmful to have.

For their next quest, as Donna termed it, she suggested finding the best milkshakes in the 36th century so they could see if they were better or worse with Oreos. The Doctor couldn’t come up with any reason not to do that, so they were deep in the storage room behind the arboretum, hunting around for the necessary parts to repair a liberated hospitality index. 

“I don’t see why we can’t just ask the TARDIS,” Donna commented, sorting through a collection of rings on a desk. 

“For the last time, the TARDIS isn’t just a fancy overlay for Siri. She’s a time and space machine! How would you empirically calculate the ‘best’ milkshakes? It’d take a week just to run through the metrics. Do _you_ want to define numerical ranges for consistency vs texture vs mouthfeel?” 

The TARDIS warbled, offering a standard index of sensations developed by the Sentarists during their third cultural revolution. 

He quietly assured her that of course he knew she understood the concepts involved. He just didn’t want to see what would happen if Donna tried to explain any of it. 

Donna was already distracted. “Wait, does she eat?” Then, to the TARDIS, “Do you eat?” 

The TARDIS flashed through images of the digestive tracts of various species. 

“Right!” Donna said, “Yes! Do _you_ do that?” 

The ceiling dropped down into an Omniplex style screen displaying what seemed to be either galaxy formations or particularly luminescent sneezes. 

Donna looked up, considering. “Is that a yes or a no…?” 

A bag of lime green protein crisps popped out of the top drawer of the desk Donna was sitting on. 

“Sure, right.” Donna took out a crisp and exaggeratedly put it in her own mouth, chewing loudly and moving her head around like the angle might be the part that was confusing. “Like this,” she crunched. “Do you do this?”

The large metal cabinet next to the Doctor let out an ear-splitting groan and crunched in on itself like the external force had suddenly overwhelmed its internal molecular structure. With a series of horrific sounds, the corners wrenched inwards, and it violently crumpled into a single point that disappeared with a somehow-even-more-terrible final shriek.

A tinny silence followed. 

“ _What_ did I say about confusing my ship?!” the Doctor growled between gritted teeth, unclamping his hands from his ears. 

Donna stared at the space where the cabinet had been with eyes that took up much more of her face than usual. 

The TARDIS chirped inquisitively. 

Donna slowly closed her mouth, gingerly finished chewing, and swallowed. “OK, maybe just fix the hospitality thingy.” 

The Doctor eyed her, assessing her mood― a habit he’d gotten into lately, while Donna allowed him to experiment with mental contact in various states. He’d become very invested in being able to tell what he might be getting into. 

He'd quickly discovered that negative emotions like sadness or guilt were less enjoyable for all involved parties and tended to give him a headache and a strange metallic aftertaste that he couldn’t quite shake. He'd made the mistake of making contact once while she was watching a scary movie and hadn't been able to stop shivering for two days. Contented moods, by contrast, felt like sinking into warm liquid sunshine and listening to children giggling. It was safe to say he’d developed a vested interest in keeping her on the positive end of the spectrum.

The TARDIS seemed to agree. She blew fruity bubbles out of a nearby vent and Donna laughed a little, relaxing. “Ooh, that reminds me…” She pulled out her notebook― a bright purple and yellow monstrosity― and started scribbling down some no doubt highly specific concept she wanted to remember for later. 

The TARDIS dropped five eights of an orange out of the pencil holder, and Donna absently put one in her mouth. She made a surprised, but pleased noise. “This tastes like a Terry’s Chocolate Orange!” 

The Doctor shrugged. “Humans work out that level of hybrid just a couple of centuries after your time.” Something occurred to him. “Hang on― Have you been messing with the TARDIS’ calibrations again? I’m sure I set her to 21st Century Earth for you.” 

Donna sniffed, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I certainly didn’t find a panel that unlocked holographic interfaces for East Enders if I moved some of the dials around.” 

He made a mental note to lock Donna out of the more advanced settings. 

The TARDIS replied with the equivalent of a 404 error, suggesting he try again later. 

He made a separate mental note to deal with _that_ later. 

Donna paused in her writing, hunting around for something. The TARDIS flipped a beaker out of the top panel of the desk. It seemed to be filled with marbles. “OK, that _might_ help…” Donna said, considering. She fished out three marbles, looked them over and then went in for six more with much more enthusiasm. "Oh, I can _so_ work with this!" 

The Doctor was particularly interested in her more eager moods, but they were the hardest ones to catch because they could quickly turn irritated if he accidentally delayed her doing whatever it was she was anticipating doing. He’d managed it once, in the moments before her favorite cake was cool enough to bite into, and it was delightful and bubbly. Everything felt slightly tingly, like there was a low-level electrical current just under his skin.

Without entirely meaning to, the Doctor heard himself ask, “Why _are_ you so… enthusiastic about all of this? You can’t even feel the telepathic synthesis.” 

Donna shrugged like she might genuinely have no concept of strange or out-of-context questions. “The way I see it― It’s like you’re really into rock collecting. What kind of friend wouldn’t point out interesting rocks when we come across them? It’s not hard― just ‘Hey, look at that rock’ and then you’re all excited for the rest of the day.” 

He grumbled. “It’s slightly more involved than rock collecting.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Donna waved him off. “Hey, after the milkshakes, let’s try to find the cutest baby things and pet them. I bet petting cute fuzzy things tastes like mental hot chocolate.”

He snapped two circuits into the index. “You think you have the same emotional reaction to petting small animals and putting on warm socks after stepping in a frozen cloud?” 

“When did I― I’d forgotten about that!" Her expression turned indignant, heading for irritated. "Why would you remind me of the time your stupid lack of table manners almost got us frozen in a cloud? Do you want to have another taste of ‘annoyance?’ Is that what you want?!”

He leaned away, itching slightly just at the suggestion. “No, and stop threatening that! I don’t threaten to tweak your nipples every time I get annoyed with _you_!” 

“Pffft,” Donna scoffed, “What a threat from the guy who spent half an hour apologizing to a pencil yesterday.” 

“I wouldn’t have chewed on it if I’d known it was sentient! You could have told me!” 

Donna hummed, clearly thinking about something else, and flicked a glance at his mouth, lingering just a tick too long.

He smiled, sensing an opportunity. “On the topic of… rock collecting… I think I might owe you for the last few…”

Donna grimaced. “Eugh, don’t say it like that. You make it sound like I’ve got you on some weird sexual blackmail payment scheme.” 

He eyed her, considering. “Which part of that statement caused your pulse rate to pick up? If it was the blackmail part, I might need a few minutes to plan.”

“What?” Donna squinted at him. “What would you _plan_ for that― No, it was the other part. The normal part!” 

“Oh, good,” he said, putting down the index and hopping up. With four quick strides, he was standing in front of her. “As I understand it, a key component of blackmail is the threat of shame and I honestly wouldn’t know where to start.” With an appropriately shameless shrug, he leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers. 

Donna squawked a little indignantly, but still pressed closer. He braced one hand behind her, holding her up, and stroked the other down her side, pulling her to the edge of the desk for easier access.

Given Donna’s frankly zealous support of his cerebral interests, he really needed to pick up his own efforts in her physical gratification. The main impediment to this was a lack of access. While Donna was perfectly happy to let him “take a look around” her mind in various locations, regardless of who else happened to be present, she was distinctly disinterested in him returning the favor in those locations. By his mental tally, he was running a bit of a debt. 

This seemed like as good a time as any to work on that. 

He moved his mouth over hers, increasing and decreasing pressure in response to changes in her pulse. She seemed to be in the mood for something on the rougher side. He adjusted his grip accordingly, digging his fingers in to the muscles and flesh, following the path of her nerves where they came closest to the surface. 

Donna groaned, wrapping her legs around his and incidentally freeing up his other hand, which he immediately worked up her spine. Her head dropped to his shoulder, giving him access to the shell of her ear, which she seemed particularly responsive to having licked and (lightly) bitten. He switched his hands so he could work her thoracic vertebrae with his slightly stronger right hand, and moved his left to her breast where she usually preferred a lighter touch. 

She clenched her legs tighter, angling her hips, and winced, pulling back. “The, ah, desk is a little―“ 

The Doctor hefted her up by the waist and sent a quick request to the TARDIS who helpfully flipped the floor panels so the desk dropped down and a more practical daybed swung up in its place. 

Donna yelped when she unexpectedly dropped several inches and bounced off the newly provided surface. “A little warning would be n- _Ahh!!_ Ah-kay. Right there’s good.” She lost interest in complaining as the Doctor resumed his ministrations with a bit more leverage. 

When he took off her trousers, she once again started working at the buttons of his shirt, never quite able to remember there wasn’t any reason for him to be undressing as well. It was easier to just pull it off himself and keep things moving. 

She moved her hands over his back and chest, mirroring his movements. It didn’t do anything in particular for him, but if he pointed that out she tended to get flustered (or worse), so he just left her to it. 

He pulled a pillow off the bed and tossed it on the floor, dropping to his knees to get her trousers off. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, kneading the tendons as he bent forward. That part wasn’t half bad. He moved one shoulder up and tilted his head to give her more direct access, and she immediately rewarded him with a more solid rub. He licked the sensitive skin behind her knee, and smiled when her grip spasmed. 

He gently stroked one hand over the sensitive skin of her belly, below her naval. His other hand crept up the back of one leg with a significantly rougher grip. 

Donna groaned again, digging one of her hands into his hair to scratch at his scalp. He didn’t mind that either. In fact it was rather nice once he got used to it. 

He murmured encouragements and let her interpret them however she liked. 


End file.
